


In Death, Truth. In Life, Sacrifice.

by That_Familiar_Feeling



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, BAMF Stiles, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Nemeton Healed, Nogitsune, Pre-Relationship, Rituals, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Steter - Freeform, We Don't Like Scott Mccall, good nogitsune, ish, it's pretty damn graphic, not gonna lie, sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-31 22:56:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18323660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_Familiar_Feeling/pseuds/That_Familiar_Feeling
Summary: “This is what I’m made for…” Stiles whispered, his voice returning to his normal cadence, but his eyes refused to yield. “It’s what every Spark is destined for. To plant the offspring and help them grow…. My mom had once tried to save the old one, but the Nogitsune had unwillingly decimated it. So she killed it… my mom killed the Nemeton of Beacon Hills.The Nemeton would be the undoing of Beacon Hills - and Stiles will do whatever it takes to ensure his homes safety.Peter is witness, he is diligent devotee, he is a birthright redeemed.----Ritualistic Sacrifice but its Purple Prose and Steter.





	In Death, Truth. In Life, Sacrifice.

The sky above Beacon Hills was still shivering after the last of the lunar eclipse shed it’s smother. Slowly the moon had returned her pale opalescent aureole, but still the shine was weakened and wavered under the exhaustion of the eclipse. The clouds seemed to roll in and veil away the moon - as though nature saw her shame and sought to ward her visage.

There was a creature who had been born with the same spark of the moon, who was both man and beast. Many of the such roamed the wilds, but this one had claimed this land for its own long before it was born.

In the wake of the eclipse, both man and wolf were seared with the same exhaustive spirit. Having been stripped of all defense and laid bare to the world, a cruel and hatred infused world, had left that already damaged soul reeling with dread and white hot rage. The bond between creature and moon was bone deep, a packbond that extended deep into the soul - and it was trembling with indignation and baying for vindication.

Something dark and wicked curled up in the man’s heart and he fed it with rage and the call for blood.

The land had been usurped right before his eyes. A false Alpha had stolen the land’s magic for his own and it made the born wolf snarl and twist away. Scott McCall was a boy king, and his reign would stamp across the bloody corpses of the wolf’s pack.

The Alpha should have been grateful, without Peter Hale he would be nothing but a sick weakling in a world that would have gladly rendered him to viscera. But without hesitation the power-drunk runt had turned around and severed whatever faint bloom of packbond was to be had between the two - he had released the Darach, he had spared and allied with the Blood-Traitor, and he had allowed the man who had orchestrated the Hale pack’s murder to _live_.

Peter could feel the land quivering after so much unnecessary bloodshed, and the ex-left _knew_ what _necessary_ bloodshed was.

Deucalion had claimed to be a repentant, cured man. But Peter knew well the wild glint that now filled the man’s eyes. His “Demon-Wolf” may have been exorcised, but a fresher, more twisted thing had filled the space left behind by a murder and absent pack. Deucalion was an omega Alpha, which was no better than a feral mutt waiting to strike. With no pack to fall back on, and the death of those who had once been pack laying at Deucalion’s own feet twice over- Peter was damn sure the man wouldn’t be able to fight off the shadows. Would gladly sink into that dark ocean and willingly drown.

 

McCall's pristine black-and-white morality had no place for the born wolf, not even if the wolf came with instilled natural instincts and a mind overflowing with pertinent knowledge that would have been crucial to a fledgling pack’s growth - so long as these things were attached the man himself they would be thrown to the gutter without the bat of a lash.

There was very little that kept Peter attentive to the pack, not his pack but simply the interlopers of his land. His kin were still kin, and he would still lurk in their shadows until they were safe. Cora had almost been lost again, and he could see the grief that poured out of his nephew in waves. Willingly or not, Derek and Cora were either apart of or allied with the Mccall pack that was slowly growing. And then there was the question of _Him_. Peter still had an investment, and he would have waited many years to watch the _Spark_ grow into his magic when it finally came...

Thus, Peter had considered the option of joining the boy’s pack. The pros and cons of temporarily submitting in order to obtain a neat line to survival.In order to observe what he had hesitated to claim. But all that was seared away as the ungrateful boy’s eyes burned with stolen power.

 _True Alpha_ they murmured… _False Shepherd_ his wolf spat back.

The rejection was visceral and had his wolf snapping and demanding blood retribution, and as Deucalion went North, Mccall went South - and Peter began to trace the blood that lead East.

Letting that wicked thing within in grow and writhe as the wolf began the hunt, it didn’t take long for Peter to find what remained of the Darach. He could feel the darkest part of him twist, collapsing thick tendrils of _disgust, vile, loathing_ , and _vindictive **rage**_ around his heart until it groaned for the taste of fresher blood.

Scott Mccall was a fool. A powerful fool who had let his skewed morality blind him from his duty as the land’s Alpha. By refusing to deal the true killing blow he had set loose the Darach once more and Peter’s wolf was thrashing against the confines of his soul. Outraged that the usurper would let this poisonous hag live. This gnarled shade that had try to collapse the very foundation of the wolf’s sacred land. She had taken, and taken, and _**taken**_ from his home and she had left behind a trail of destruction and agony that poisoned the already weakened soil.

And still she had the _gall_ to wind up back There.

Syrupy blood led from the brush at the edge of the sacred clearing and trailed in sticky trenches across the parched earth. It took little effort for Peter’s wolf to hunt her down and now it was singing for her head to be wrenched apart from her shoulders.  
She would dare to come back to this place? To once again desecrate the already wounded soil which had so kindly given her life again? It was more than blasphemy, more than sacrilege. It was the very undoing.

Peter had reached her just as she had fallen between two large roots, her hand desperately reaching towards the pale exposed wood. A blink, and he had dug his claws into her shoulders and tore her back from the trunk. He threw her onto her back and pinned her there beneath his rage and the reminder of her betrayal’s.

She stared up at him and sneered like the wounded animal she was. Her eyes sunk into her head and the glamour she wore flickering like the static of a television. Her throat pulsed and writhed with the tainted blood and he could almost hear the whispered words of dark magic seeping out of the gaping wound. Very little remained of either druid or Darach besides the pallid skin that reeked of death and agony.

Peter only smiled back at her. Teeth bared and claws glinting in the faint moonlight. This was his duty. Born to this land, born to honor the power that wove through the ley lines that met beneath his feet. As a child his blood was given, it was his _birthright_ and it had been stolen from him _**three times.**_

 _Though he did not remember the first- the whisper still flitted around his bones. Of a childhood spent dutiful following his mother as she explained each intricate detail that an Alpha should know in order to maintain a healthy and strong pack._  
_She was still graceful in her age, and she was a Regent. When she felt that her heirs before had failed or not met the needs of the Pack, she had instead then turned to the last born, to the unexpected. She had carefully pushed at the powers at hand and found them settling neatly in fresh blood. In young golden eyes that shown with potential, with loyalty. Her daughter only shown of arrogance and self-import…._

_And then the Alpha had died. Suddenly and all at once, and the only witness was the very cause of her demise. Even still, despite having the power purposefully exposed- it had already chosen its next host. So with a rage of the bereft, the To-Be Alpha of the Hale pack had cornered her child brother of only nine, and she stole from him what was stolen from her._

_Laura had come for him. Or for the idea of him. Years later, the mirror ghost of Talia Hale stared down the feral form of her uncle and in her grief she uttered the words that sealed her fate unknowingly…_  
_“I’m sorry for what she did to you…”_

 _He had taken back what had been stolen. But it had been warped and desecrated by theft and loss and his body was to weak itself to heal the spark._  
_It was almost relieving to see his nephew follow in his mother’s footsteps. To watch the grief flicker across his face as he tore open his only known kin’s throat._

_At least Derek had struck him down face to face._

Scott McCall had failed as beta as he refused to unite with his wolf, had failed as a wolf at all when he chose the Hunter’s and allowed them to take _again_ , and he had failed as an Alpha barely breaths in when he allowed two powerful monsters to live and walk across the land that should _never_ have been at his feet.

So with great surety, Peter Hale decided that he would not allow his land to be lost inch by inch to a child. He raised his clawed hand and snarled down at the Darach who hissed back with seething rage and fear and he intended to take at least an ounce of the power he was owed.

Before he could move a sound came rushing through the clearing. It was subsonic, and the very breadth of it **demanded** to be observed. The power that came with it crooned with the voice of a brontide and it caused the Darach’s weakened glamour to shatter and fall away in delicate wisps of ribbon-like skin. Peter could physically feel his wolf recoil and crouch as it waited for the much larger predator to reveal itself.

But what came through the treeline was not the predator either creature expected.  
Instead it was the shadow of a boy.

The moon and clouds had been caught by the power as well, and through the slip of clouds came just enough light to reveal the interloper.

The figured lurched again, and only through the power of his eyes could Peter make out the shapes it made. Hunched in on itself, leant against the trunks of deathly still pines. A darkness permeated from its person and forced the grass and brush to bow submissively under the oppressive shadow.

With a limp the figure approached. At first, it was the pale skin that caught Peter’s eye. Pale as the moon itself with the scattered dot and mar. Then it was the _blood_.

  
His shirt had been torn open from shoulder to hip and hung in loose ribbons. The white fabric was deep red and still dripped with it. His pants had been torn at the thighs and exposed more pale flesh… all of which was woundless. What could have been familiar once was startlingly new. Despite the obvious change in appearance, the wolf expected to hear the pleasant jack-rabbit-beat of the boy’s heart. But instead the wolf was forced to cower as the calm cadence of a war drum sounded, and only bloody absolution would follow.

There was a heavy air around his lithe frame. It swam with shadows and dark aura. Both most shocking of all was the mantle which bleed from his lips out like a flare burst. What looked like welders spark danced across parted lips and fell to the ground like the delicate blossoms of an apple tree.

It was clear though as he approached that the blood he was bathed in was not all his own.  
Peter watched in dawning horror as the faint pinpricks of light that fell the ground illuminated the object which the boy dragged along. The sparks scattered off the body of Deucalion when they brushed his way,leaving behind scorch marks.

The Alpha’s body was mangled as though he’d been in an explosion and his skin had acted as a balloon to catch the ruptured organs and tissues. His once graceful frame was gnarled up and the boy dragged him along by his jaw alone, which looked to be barely attached to the skull.  
Most horrifying was the hammering heartbeat that the body somehow managed to maintain.

The Darach had began to whine and squirm as the pair approached. Peter himself took a step back and watched with widening eyes as they grew closer and it became obvious that this was not the Stiles he had grown to admire.

_He wasn’t even sure if the thing coming towards him was alive…_

It took a great deal of effort to resist shrinking back as this Stiles stopped before him mere inches apart.

It was certainly obvious this close that Stiles was no longer human.  
If he had been a human still then perhaps Peter would have worried more about the wound across his forehead and the large bite mauled into the boys neck rather than the color of his eyes.

Reds, Blues, and Yellows mixed and separated like oil and paint smeared together and poured into his irises. His pupils still existent, but hazy and clouded behind the ever evolving miasma in his eyes.

The bite on his neck was inconsequential therefor, save for the part where the Alpha who had given it had unintentional created a toggle switch to the equivalent of a nuclear bomb.

Said Alpha was continuously gurgling and whining deep within its chest. Hands limply twitching and clawing at the dust that was quickly being stained. Deucalion was then tossed to the ground by his jaw and Peter did flinch this time. It was like a sack of shattered rods had been thrown and the sound of squelching made his own wolf both whimper and bay in delight.

Stiles face was devoid of emotion. A clinical facade which only studied the crumpled body for a moment more before settling on the wolf still standing. That oil-slicked gaze made the wolf’s teeth ache and every inch of skin burst into gooseflesh.

Below them the Darach had begun to openly sob. Her fear and despair was cloying up the air and Peter growled low in his chest as her stench tried to overwhelm the pure scent of power that radiated off of Stiles form. It smelled like fresh ozone in a prairie, like the potential for a forest fire wrapped up neatly within a small woolen cloth.  
There was the faintest smile from the boy as he recognized the possessive growl Peter let loose. He reached out and wrapped his long fingers around the wolf’s wrist in a way similar to the move Peter had thrown at him only a bare year prior.

With a wail the Darach tried to squirm away, or to melt into the decayed stump at her back. This earned her a sharp glare from the boy, the _**Spark**_ , which only caused the pathetic being to sob harder.

But she was not the center of his attention. That was solely dedicated to Peter as Stiles placed his other hand at the wolf’s shoulder and gently pushed him to his knees. Not a fiber of Peter’s being could disobey, and he watched with both terror and delight as Stiles led their joined hands towards the body of the dying Alpha.

_This brilliant boy was giving him a **gift**._

His inner wolf was beside itself. It still trembled at the power the younger creature possessed, but when its vindication was presented before it so simply it began to purr and roll about spell-struck within Peter. He felt it most as a sense of total adoration and obsessive devotion towards the boy who forced the wolves claws to extend to their painful apex.

Suddenly there was something being pushed through his skin. A magic so untempered and raw that it was unbearably hot, searing from a bloom across his wrist over his palm and then into the keratin which began to reach into the defeated Alpha’s chest.

Deucalion let loose a guttural death cry and all once the power of the “Demon-Wolf”, the “Alpha of Alpha’s”, began to pour into Peter’s spark.

“ _ **Take**_.” Said the Spark, and all at once the unbearable flame leapt across Peter’s hand and sunk itself permanently into his chest.

_This was not natural. Not even in the way of predators. This was not the mere transfer of one spark to another. Even in killing, the balance of nature declared the ever constant strife to be righteous._

_This was beyond that, this was a singular being taking nature by its throat and throttling it._

_Without a breath of uncertainty, Peter knew that this power would never be stolen from him again. This was a gift made to him that defied every rule of the wilds._

As the power settled and Peter panted for breath, he was struck with a painful jolt as his mind snapped back into place. It felt like someone had buried a white hot fire poker into his cerebrum.

He could feel Stiles’ hands on his shoulders and then gently carded through his hair as his mind rampaged to accept the stolen truths that came to him. “ _ **And be given.**_.” the Spark whispered and so very delicately brushed his thumbs across Peter’s eyelids until they closed and he could be projected into his own mind.

_Talia smothering him in his bed, her claws buried in his neck as her pet emissary chanted lowly behind her. He had barely woken to the pain of the Alpha spark being given to him before she had pounced and forcibly wrenched it out of it. All the while murmuring below her breath and behind her fangs how he had Stolen from her. Her mother, her pack, her blood given right to be Alpha. The pain of such betrayal, of such brutality had stripped the little boy to his core and left him a withered and vengeful wraith of his potential self._

_His home away from the Pack. His sanctum of self-reliance and safety… trespassed and tarnished and left blank of all precious memory… a fraction the pain compared to the empty crib he had desperately run to, only to be cornered and once again stripped of his own mind as his Alpha glanced on composed and unfazed as she once again ripped him apart with his clawed hand. “It’s for the best...for the girl...for my pack...you were never meant to love…”_

_The memory that his crazed mind had lost with the veil of death itself. Of precious niece Laura, he looked at him in horror and sorrow. “I’m sorry...I’m sorry for what she did…” her admission of **knowing** and having the **gall** to look the omega in the face and tell him that she **knew what her mother had done** , and then the audacity to continue, “But it was best for the family...for the pack… I’m sorry Peter but you can’t be allowed to go on..”_

_She had attacked first._

All of this and more came back to him. Pieces lost long before the fire cam rearing back and settled across the freshly made Alpha’s shoulders like long lost wings. His sense of devotion, of loyalty, and reverence. His unbidden desire to love a single being to spite the very essence of his sister… all of it made him gasp and tremble and desperately seek out the comfort of the Spark’s steady hand.

For a moment Stiles allowed Peter to catch his breath and settle. He trailed a bloody hand across Peter’s face and left behind a searing mark that painted across Peter’s lips and chin. Then with an affectionate pet through his hair the boy turned towards the terror-stricken Darach who shrieked with rage and fright as he now focused on her.

She summoned up what little strength she had left and tried to vault across the top of the Nemeton. But with the barest gesture of his hand, Stiles had her lifted and slammed back into the wood with an unforgiving force. She was belly up and began to scream like a caught rabbit as he stood over her.

“ _ **Traitor… ruiner… betrayer….coward**_.” He chanted and with each word Jennifer squealed higher and higher.

Peter felt drunk with the spark flowing through him once and for all. But he was still sharp enough to catch a shift in the shadows. Something was clawing its way up from the sinkhole the Darach had caused earlier, and it reeked of rust and iron.

“ **There is only one betrayer lesser than you...and her blood I will spill in time…** ” this time the encroaching shadows hissed. And as it came closer Peter hurried to move back, even as an Alpha his wolf felt the instinctual urge to rear back from the physical taint that neared them.

“ _ **Blood for Blood...life for life**_ …” Stiles murmured and the timber of his voice echoed the storm blooming above. It both frightened and amazed Peter and he chose to kneel at the boy’s side opposite of the manifesting darkness.  
The dark _thing_ that had shown itself began to physically tether down the writhing Darach and Stiles spoke again which silenced her panicked shrieking, “ _ **In Death, Truth. In Life, Sacrifice.”**_

 _ **“I have seen the truth. Through the exchange of death and life it was given to me to be fulfilled. It is sacrifice that is demanded to heal what was wrought…**_ ” Stiles silently reached towards Peter who reached back and did not flinch as the boy slit through the tender skin of his wrist with a fleck of soldering spark and then did the same to his own.

Both voices joined together,” **Blood of** _**The Land**_ ”. Peter’s blood, which had been a fundamental essence of the Beacon Hill’s wilderness for centuries. Now empowered with the Alpha spark. Stiles blood, tied through two generations of power which had been molded by the very earth below.

“ _ **Heart ,once,**_ **of the Kin** ”. The Darach was wrenched upwards and slammed back down on her back, and in a heartbeat a pale slender hand was plunged into her chest. Her final cry gargling across the clearing in a resounding death cry.

The Spark was now flaking off like a firework. The most delicate Purple Rain sparkler. Dainty sparks scorched across the Alpha’s skin but within their hair’s breadth they healed. In the hand that came back out of the dead once druid’s chest, was the still thundering heart. Sparks of gold flecked away from those oil-slicked eyes and wound through veins visibly under the skin.  
Then, like a piece of flint those sparks feel from the fingertips and sunk deep into the muscle.

The Darkness manifested again and dragged the cooling corpse of Deucalion onto the stump and neatly arranged him perpendicular beneath the Darach’s still warm body.

The thing that had crept out from the cellar was quickly gaining form, and now Peter could see that it resembled a malnourished canid, with jutting shoulder blades and ribs and a gaunt snarling muzzle. Most surprising was the mass of thin bone-like tails that began to grow and acted like many hands that rearranged the deceased’s limbs.

“ ** _The roots of life itself._ The chambers of chaos condemned.**” Up from the sunken earth where once was the cellar, those grotesque tails returned holding in careful grasp a long bundle of the Nemeton’s dried roots, and a small glass jar that had been shattered, but with a flare of bright gold mended itself again in a _tinkling_ chord.

“ **Give and Take…. _Life and Death..._** “

The heart was still galloping, but now Peter watched as the various pieces of the ritual were embedded into the muscle.

Into the jar was the Alpha’s Blood, a direct line of power that connected the land back to its spark.  
The heart was brimming with the Spark’s own power, gold that shone through thin tissue and out through the flexing valves.  
The roots were carefully wound around the heart and tied into a complicated knot the symbolized the reciprocated sacrifice of the Darach towards the Nemeton, which had become tainted with her betrayal. It also tied the freshly beating heart to the land’s decayed sentinel.

“ _ **A Spark. Passed down from blood to blood from the very First.**_ ” And now, more golden light began to pour into the heart. It turned colors, and like those oiled eyes it shifted and simmered with color. Peter watched in awe as the dark purple-red muscle turned bright and radiated in tones similar to Stiles’ eyes. It looked as though a star had been plucked from the sky and fitted between the boy’s palms.

“ **A gift. An apology. A thank you…** ” Peter watched as something extracted itself from the shoulders of the boy. Like a shade of a man, wrapped in bandages and stinking of disease and rage.  “ **A home, even if not chosen… a place where the mind could mend. Where a seed could grow….** ” the shade reached towards the wavering form of the fox, the _Kitsune_ and the canid reached back with his muzzle. Like the joining of a split soul. “ **But promises, for those who honor the First Duties… even Chaos must bend beneath. For now…** ” it looked as though for a second the shade had paused and looked back at Stiles longingly, reaching out to caress across the boys throat and causing the wolf to snarl and snap at the intrusion to what it had now called _His_. The shade sneered and cackled and then dove into the canid form which barked and crowed and lunged forward itself.

Peter hissed and shielded his eyes as the two pieces melded back together in a flash of silver light. It was the shimmering visage of the Fox spirit, ethereal and beyond this side of the veil. It brayed and the sound felt like it traveled eons before it reached Peter’s ears… and then with a playful leap it sank its massive claws into the dead Nemeton’s remaining body.

The wood gave way with crunching and whining, pieces of wood and bark sent scattering across the soil. As the fox rendered the stump to woodchips the clouds began to weep and fat drops of rain left wells in the dry earth.

All at once bright light began to filter through the clearing. Peter had to shield his eyes completely now, blinded in an instant. But Stiles watched on, as was _his_ birthright.

When the stump was nothing but a pile of upended wood chips, the roots forcibly torn out of the ground with teeth and claws- the spirit stepped back with a yip and began to violently shake its fur free of the woody viscera, rain pattering away and drop by drop the fox manifested.

The Nogitsune shook off the dark aurelis that clung to its fur. And what was once a blackened, burnt creature was a graceful silver being with a river that flowed from its back. Tail upon tail braided and swam together, long and heavy and swishing to reveal softer earth before the parched soil. Above the moon could be seen through the heavy rain clouds that had been summoned and had unloaded the lands grief.

The giant creature soon began to bleed into the light being given off by the Nemeton’s remains, and in final parting it touched it’s nose to the head of the Spark, _“When the time comes, I will seek your aid to undo the wrong that has been done… her tails are withered and weakened, and mine now flow with the Earth’s turn…. Be well Kin.”_

It turned towards the blind wolf and purred in amusement before nosing at his hair and leaving behind shimmering strands of silver at the base of his temples. _“You have unknowingly been my guardian for many moons… now your task is to be his...be well cousin.”_

The beast then leapt, and in with a sharp bark that sounded faintly reminiscent of a thunderclap, it was lost within the dark storm clouds.

Peter for his part sank to his knees fully in the mud. His eyes blinded and his ears deafened as the light of the Nemeton was joined by an all encompassing ringing. The fresh Alpha sense sent his head swimming and his heart was jumping along faster than he could piece together his thoughts.

Then he felt hands against his cheeks, and a softer mistier rain against his skin, and the press of a forehead to his own.

Unaware of how long they had sat like that - when the noise and light finally fell away there was the faintest blush of sunrise on the horizon.  
The clouds now sensing their task complete, began to escort the now waning moon back across the sky.

Peter cautiously opened his eyes and was struck by the rebirth set before him.  
The clearing was soaked, but from the freshly replenished earth new life had sprouted. Flowers, and soft petalage seemed to birth right before his eyes. Heavy Byzantium blooms hung low as _Lupine_ grew tall and proud from the very soil itself. Interspersed where small bright yellow flowers familial to the sunflower, with darker centers and golden petals that shivered in a delicate breeze.

There, in the center of a golden morning - where once stood the fallen sentinel of Beacon Hills, was a mound of soft fertile soil. All around it grew foxglove, and in the center nestled protective between the brightly colored petals, was a sapling. Only knee height, but thick and proudly standing among the resurrected. Peter could feel the ley lines beneath his knees pulsing and humming and surging up to soak into the still-green-bark of the sapling and his keen eyes caught the faint glimmer of magic bleed into the few leaves.

“This is what I’m made for…” Stiles whispered, his voice returning to his normal cadence, but his eyes refused to yield. “It’s what every Spark is destined for. To plant the offspring and help them grow…. My mom had once tried to save the old one, but the Nogitsune had unwillingly decimated it. So she killed it… my mom killed the Nemeton of Beacon Hills. She ended it’s suffering, Mercy… but death of something so old takes years. And it was still just there enough to give Julia Baccari some of what remained. In order to complete the death, to begin life - Jennifer had to give back what she had kept.” He approached the sapling and tenderly knelt just at the edge of the foxglove.

Peter carefully approached still on his knees. He reached out to hold onto Stiles for the pure sake of touching the boy.

“When I died, I saw my mother. She was the one who told me what had to be done… she warned me about the Nogitsune…The Nogitsune will return. It wants revenge of the one who imprisoned it, who inadvertently destroyed the balance. It is chaos manifested but there is can be no Chaos if nothing lives. One day it will come back, and I vowed to help it… in return for its helping me.”

He loving pet his fingertip across the leaves of the newborn Nemeta. “The land will begin to heal Peter… the ghosts will rest. Once we leave today, this place will fade from your mind. It’s going to be a long time before the tree can act on its own, thankfully until then it will hide this place and the surrounding. Beacon Hills, for now, will be a lot quieter….” he turned to beam at Peter, still bloodied and his eyes had refused to yield or retreat back to their honey-amber color.

Peter shuddered at the idea of his mind being altered again, but if was the wish of his Spark, then he would submit to it.

“And what becomes of us then?” He rasps out and unabashedly paws at Stiles shoulders and back, memorizing the feel of him and scenting him so to solidify the blossoming pack bound that glowed a stellar brightness, that sang in perfect chord.  
“There’s the matter of informing the rest of the creatures in Beacon Hills to behave. The residing pack must be not only settled but also indoctrinated - as long as there’s been a Nemeta on this soil there has been a Wolf to protect it. The Hale pack is gone…” at this Stiles pulls Peter into a hug, the man’s mind now healed enough to truly feel the grief of having his pack destroyed so completely.

“Whatever you ask…” Peter whispers and possessively folds the boy into his arms, “so long as you’ll have me…”

Stiles laughed, bright and nothing at all like the powerful being Peter had witnessed earlier...perhaps that being was partially Nogitsune and partially Spark...this was entirely Stiles.

“Peter. By all technicalities we’re bonded now. Both of our sparks our wrapped up with the very heart of this land… you’re never gonna be able to get rid of me.”

The Wolf within Peter purred, it reveled in the knowledge that both the Power to defend itself and pack was permanent, and that no matter what the future may bring it was never going to be alone again.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way…”

**Author's Note:**

> This was purely fun to write. I just saw this image of Stiles in my head one day, and he was using The Darach's body as a ritual blood bag so like...this is way tamer. Either way it was just fun to write and I haven't written Teen Wolf in a WHILE.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it.


End file.
